


Vertigo

by echoinautumn (maybetwice)



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alien Shenanigans, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Angst, Drama, Gen, Genderswap, double genderswap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-13 01:50:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/818557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybetwice/pseuds/echoinautumn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>McCoy spends a late night trying to put things right after another planet of helpful aliens switch things around, though she’s not handling it well, either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vertigo

**Author's Note:**

> The first “ficlet” for the meme I did last week. The prompt roulette wheel gave me “Genderswap: Lenora McCoy, Polina Chekova” and this is the result—genderswapping already genderswapped characters. Short, unresolved, but fun genfic hovering on the line of barely-there-but-not-really pairings.

*

McCoy’s hands are still shaking as she works, though the glaring lights of the medical bay are making her eyes water from exhaustion. The work, basic lab work that she used to do for _fun_ , to calm her nerves, is clumsy now that she doesn’t recognize the bulk of her hands. She’s not used to the shift in her center of gravity, the absent weight from her chest, replaced by an unfamiliar, awkward feeling between her thighs, but all of that she can deal with. For now, this is challenge enough for her, just trying to do her job like Kirk needs her to; holding together and trying not to scream in frustration.

When her clumsy, broad fingers slip again, McCoy tosses the instrument onto the work counter and swears furiously. The instruments recognize the biological samples to a certain degree, they can tell her that the samples match Ensign Chekova, Polina A and Lieutenant Commander McCoy, Lenora H, but McCoy doesn’t even feel that way about herself. She can recognize her muddy brown eyes, and can even see a substantial amount of her father’s features in her face now, but she looks away before she sees anything more familiar than that; or worse, unfamiliar.

“Have you found anything, Doctor?”

The unfamiliar, heavily accented voice catches her by surprise, and McCoy looks up from under a thin curtain of loose strands of hair to see Chekova standing in the doorway to the lab area. McCoy had sent her back to quarters after taking samples, telling the girl to get some rest while she keeps working on their problem, but a quick look at her clock tells her that she did so six hours ago. She’d banished Kirk from medical shortly after for cornering her and asking if this is going to be permanent and suggesting a little too casually that McCoy looks good as a man, and God help her, she’s not going to think too hard about that. They shouldn’t even be like this; this is the kind of thing she feared before she enlisted.

“You should be getting some rest, Chekova,” she barks, and her voice surprises herself, harsher than she’s used to. Chekova jumps a little, her whip-thin and lanky body twitching more than usual. So she’s not used to this, either. McCoy looks back down at the beeping instrument.

“I slept some,” Chekova says and crosses her arms over her flat chest—flatter than usual, in any case. “And talked to the Captain.”

“Oh, for chrissakes,” McCoy mutters and pulls out a chair for Chekova, who refuses it and shifts her weight instead. “Don’t tell me he—”

“Do you think we’ll always be like this?” McCoy stops dead at the words, and forces herself to meet Chekova’s eyes. If it weren’t for a few helpful aliens, they’d be just fine, sleeping soundly in their respective quarters now and on their way to the diplomatic escort mission they were scheduled for next. Kirk has been handling the negotiations on the planet, and with putting off Starfleet queries, but as far as McCoy is concerned, they’re on their own for finding their own way back.

“I’m trying my hardest, kid,” she says honestly, and leans back against the counter, grateful that M’Benga let her borrow one of his uniforms while she’s working, though it fits strangely over her body. “I know it’s… hard. It’s only been a few days. We’ll know soon.”

Chekova was hysterical when she first woke up, but she’s calm now after a few days to adjust as well as she can, if fidgety and uncomfortable. She meets McCoy’s eyes with a firm set in her jaw and says: “Am I cleared to return to duty?”

“As long as you come back when I tell you for samples,” McCoy sighs and picks up the scanner again, gentler than before, and weighs it in her broader hand, too aware of the hair along her arm, across the back of her hand. “I’ll tell the Captain you’re ready to be back onto the bridge.”

Chekova breathes what must be a sigh of relief, and then smiles at McCoy, her lips thinner than McCoy remembers, but the longer she looks at her, the harder it is to separate the image of Chekova as she was with Chekova as she is. Not a wonder, she thinks, why she doesn’t linger in front of mirrors herself. McCoy chooses not to broach the subject with Chekova.

“You should rest as well, Doctor,” she suggests, and salutes her. “We can concern ourselves with it tomorrow as well.”

“Yeah. I’ve got to report in with Kirk first,” she rumbles and pushes her hair back from her face as Chekova leaves with an aborted gesture like she wants to reach for her, to give or receive comfort.

McCoy flips on her console and stares at the bright screen, rubbing her fingers over the rough stubble over her cheeks. “Medical to Captain Kirk,” she announces to the whirring ship’s computer, and sinks into a chair, waiting for his face to appear.

“Bones,” he greets wearily, and a look tells her all she needs to know about how he hasn’t slept yet, either. She lifts a hand to keep him from saying anything else prematurely.

“Put some pants on, Jim,” McCoy sighs and stands up, wobbling a little and hating that she misses her breasts and a bra. “I’m coming up. I just want to talk.”

“About damn time,” he grunts and reaches out, ostensibly for the switch on his console. “See you soon, Bones. Kirk out.” Then the screen goes black and McCoy is left staring at her own weary reflection until she gathers the will to stand again and head toward the door.


End file.
